Few books are 'cult classics', especially those that deal with, of all things, literary criticism. This is one of them.
Can't say authoritatively if it has anything to do with 'real Zen ' since I'm not, to my chagrin, the living Buddha, and apparently not one Zen master in a hundred claims to be 'enlightened' these days, at least not among the second generation bumper crop of American and European Zen masters-- A source of relief if you've ever read their vapid and banal pronouncements on life, death and the meaning of the universe.
Guess they just don't make 'em like they used to in ancient China.
Go sit.
Nevertheless, Zen appealed to the young Western intelligensia via the writings of Suzuki, Watts and company. It's almost a religion tailor made for dashing bookworms (Is this a koan?)
Here, R.H. Blyth gives the reader a, as Jung would say, 'mythological Zen' that perhaps never was, but should have been, and he does so in an amazing book on English Lit.
So what's your attitude to life? The heroic as exemplified by Henley's great poem "Invictus"? Or are you a child crying in the night, crying for the light , and with no other language but a cry?
That section alone is worth the price of the book, but it's in the analysis of Hamlet as the archetypal 'zen-less' Western man that R.H really springs to life.
There are about as many critical interpretations of Shakespeare's prince as there are of Jesus, but R.H. has come up with one of the most outstanding.
Hamlet, THE greatest figure in tragedy since Sophocles, Aeschylus and Euripedes put ink to papyrus, suffers from 'Words, Words, Words'--for R.H. the clue to his (and our own ) malaise, as contrasted with the 'Zen-filled man ', the one and only Don Quixote de La Mancha !
R.
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